


One Night in Bangkok

by mariposaroja



Category: MotoGP RPF, Motorcycling RPF
Genre: Drunken Mistakes sometimes lead to good things, M/M, Tattoos, Thai Test
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 19:57:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14027628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariposaroja/pseuds/mariposaroja
Summary: Frowning as he saw something white peeking over the top of his pants, he slowly unbuttoned them, pushing them down to just above his knees. He caught his lip between his teeth, pulling back the band of his boxers to see a moderately sized square bandage.What the fuck.“Probably not as bad as it seems,” he muttered to himself, trying his best to believe those words, “it’s probably just a scratch…”Squeezing one eye shut, he decided to just bite the bullet and slowly began to peel the bandage back, stomach beginning to turn as, instead of blood or an angry red gash, he saw very clean black lines.





	One Night in Bangkok

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this one since before Silverstone last year, and I finally got my act in gear and finished it. I really hope you like it ♥

Marc felt as if he’d been hit by a truck. Groaning as he woke, apparently never getting around to closing the curtains the previous night, he covered his eyes to shield them from the blinding sunlight that was streaming through the window, doing absolutely nothing to help the pounding in his head. It felt like he was minutes away from death, which was something given that he still considered himself to be young and capable of bouncing back from nights out with relative ease. This, however, seemed to be one massive exception to the rule.

From what he remembered, which- admittedly- was very little, he’d drank enough the previous night to probably be suffering from alcohol poisoning, that thought backed up by the sudden wave of nausea that washed over him. Remaining right where he was, Marc squeezed his eyes shut in the hopes that it would pass, inhaling deeply in an attempt to just breathe through it. It seemed to work and after a minute or two he felt sufficiently confident that his stomach contents would remain just that that he reached out for his phone.

The screen was broken, which really didn’t surprise him at all. A bit of cracked glass being the least of his worries at the moment, Marc just shrugged it off. He could easily buy a new one. It was the time he was most concerned with, trying to wrack his brains to remember when their flight was due to depart. Sixty-forty in favour of it being sometime in the evening, he allowed himself to relax for a minute or two (though _relaxing_ wasn’t exactly the most appropriate way to describe it) before hauling himself up out of the bed and into the shower.

It took almost every ounce of strength he had to move, and that was once he’d ruled out the possibility of telling the team that he fancied another day in Jakarta to do some sightseeing. The walk to the bathroom, while in reality was only a couple of feet, might as well have been the length of the track and once or twice the reigning world champion found himself relying on the wall to make it to his destination. _I am never letting another drop of alcohol pass my lips ever again._

The only positive he derived from the situation was the fact that he was still wearing last night’s clothes, meaning that he had spent the night alone. As he peeled them gingerly away, Marc ached in places that he was sure even the most severe of highsides wouldn’t make him ache. The area worst affected, strangely, seemed to be his lower abdomen, right around the waistband of his pants.

Frowning as he saw something white peeking over the top of his pants, he slowly unbuttoned them, pushing them down to just above his knees. He caught his lip between his teeth, pulling back the band of his boxers to see a moderately sized square bandage.

“What the _fuck_.”

That particular injury, whatever it was, had not been there when he’d left his room for dinner the previous evening. Marc desperately wracked his brain for something that might explain it and wasn’t surprised to find nothing. _This is what excessive drinking gets you, a headache and unexplained injuries._

“Probably not as bad as it seems,” he muttered to himself, trying his best to believe those words, “it’s probably just a scratch…”

Squeezing one eye shut, he decided to just bite the bullet and slowly began to peel the bandage back, stomach beginning to turn as, instead of blood or an angry red gash, he saw very clean black lines.

 _No, no, no, no,_ no. “Shit. What did I do?!” He felt like screaming. Not only had he gotten absolutely shitfaced, he’d then gone and completed the cliché by adding a _fucking tattoo_ to the mix. _My mother is going to kill me. I won’t be alive to win the championship this year._

Marc’s hand remained frozen half way, too busy trying to come to terms with the fact that he’d gotten a tattoo to check what he’d actually gotten tattooed. Although that was probably because he was trying to delay the inevitable. His stomach churned, and once again he had to fight nausea but for an entirely different reason this time.

Eventually, after a couple of minutes of borderline hyperventilation, the MotoGP rider finally resigned himself to the fact that whatever was there was _there_ and wasn’t going away. One sharper than necessary tug and the rest of the bandage came away, looking at it from the wrong angle meaning that it took a little bit longer to actually figure out what it was.

He wished he’d just remained blissfully ignorant.

“OH JESUS CHRIST.”

Seconds away from crying, Marc continued to stare down at the offending number 26 literally stabbed into his skin, wondering why on earth he couldn’t have just gotten a butterfly or something. _The fucking Playboy logo would have been less of a disaster than this!_

Dropping the bandage to the floor, Marc sank down to his knees just in time to empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

****

“Marc?”

“ _Emilioooo_ …”

 _Oh boy_. “I’m heading up to bed now and I strongly advise that you do the same.”

He looked over at his team mate to see that Dani was pouting too. _That’s good enough for me._ “You go ahead. Me and Dani are going to have one more drink.”

“Marc, I really don’t think that’s a good idea.” _You’ve already had too much and I’m afraid of what you two will get up to if I leave you here alone._

Deciding to take the situation into his own hands, Dani (in all his drunken wisdom) draped one arm around the younger man’s shoulders, pressing their temples and cheeks together. “I’ll take care of him, Emilio. You don’t have to worry.”

That really didn’t give him the reassurance it usually would if the seasoned rider were sober. Looking between the two momentarily, Emilio just shook his head and sighed. “Fine. Something tells me that I’m not going to win this one. _One_ more drink, then get to bed. Okay?”

 _YAY_. “Absolutely,” Marc flashed his mentor his brightest smile, “just one more drink.”

****

_Please pick up. Please pick up._

“’ello?”

A wave of relief washed over him at the sound of his brother’s voice. “Alex! I’m sorry I know that it’s like early in the morning over there but I need to talk to you urgently. I’m in so much trouble.”

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“No. I’m going to be murdered, I fucked up so bad.”

“Marc, _what did you do_?”

Running his spare hand through his hair, Marc almost burst into tears when he looked down at his abdomen once again. “I got drunk with Dani last night, _really_ drunk-“

“Oh my god… you slept with him.”

 _WHAT_. The eldest Marquez started to choke, his eyes almost popping out of his head. “I didn’t sleep with Dani!! Why would you even say that??!” _Why is that the first conclusion that you come to??_

“Oh. Well- it doesn’t matter. Continue.”

His other problems were too big to dwell on that one. For now… “I got a tattoo.” Saying the words out loud only made him feel a thousand times worse, his incredible stupidity being hammered home.

Alex’s groan probably could have been heard from Jakarta even if they hadn’t been on the phone. “ _Marc_.” _Meaning: you absolute idiot_. “Where? And, most importantly, _what_.”

“I know. I _know_. It’s… well, I guess it’s on my stomach? But like really low down.” _Like really, really low down…_

“Marc?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you get a _Pol_ tattoo?”

 _Yes, yes, yes. I did, okay? But at least Pol was intelligent enough to get his own number…_ “Yeah. And it’s nothing… _offensive_. It’s just a number.”

“Oh, so it’s just a 93? That’s not bad.”

“Uh, I didn’t say it was _my_ number…” _God, this is torture_.

Another moment of silence. “Marc, what did you do…”

Looking down at the mark that had decided to attach itself to his body (yes, he was blaming the tattoo itself), he whimpered, poking at it gently with his index finger and wincing when it stung like hell. “My life is over.”

“It’s not a 46, is it? Because none of us need to deal with _that_.”

 _Just do it, Marc. Stop being such a coward._ “It’s not a _forty_ six… it’s a _twenty_ six.”

****

Peeling himself out of the bed, never regretting any decision he’d made in his life more than he did then, Dani half walked, half staggered into the bathroom. Smacking the light switch on with a little more force than necessary, he winced when it made his hand throb, that in turn making him more aware of the other aches and pains he had to endure.

Groaning, he stopped in front of the sink, staring into the mirror with pure hatred of himself, wondering why he decided to do this. Dani had just been about to bend down and splash some cool water over his face when something that really shouldn’t have been there caught his attention; a white bandage that he was pretty sure wasn’t there when he’d left his room the previous night was now securely stuck to his left pec. Knowing that it could mean nothing good, Dani took a deep breath and braced himself with one hand against the granite before beginning to peel it away.

Nothing- _nothing_ \- could have prepared him for what he saw when he did.

 _WHAT DID WE DO_.

****

“What do you think of the barman’s tattoos?”

Craning his neck to see what the younger man was talking about, Dani took another sip of his drink, eyebrow raised. “They look good. Some people really suit them.”

“Would you ever get one?”

“How do you know I don’t already have one?”

Almost spitting out his drink at the cheeky look on his team mate’s face, Marc gaped. “Do you?”

“Pff, no. Come on, this is me we’re talking about.”

 _That’s what I thought._ “Would you ever think about getting one?”

Giving a little shrug, the older man puffed out his cheeks. “Yeah, I’ve thought about it before. Could never decide on something that I wouldn’t change my mind about though.”

“Mmm, yeah you would have to pick something that would always mean something to you. Like your number.”

 _What?_ “My phone number?”

“No, _Dani_. Not your _phone number_. Your racing number. 26. Like Pol.”

“Pol has number 26 tattooed?”

 _God, Dani. And they think you’re the smart one of the two of us_. “NO. Pol has 44.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess that makes sense.”

“I’ve been thinking about getting a 93 but-“

“You should do it.”

“What?”

“You should do it! Tonight! Right now!”

“Er… I’m not too sure about that.”

But Dani already had his mind made up. This was the greatest idea he’d ever had, bar none. “You have to live in the moment, Marc Marquez. We’re here, in Thailand, because we are really good motorcycle racers. We’re the best. And if we want to get our numbers tattooed, we’re going to do it.”

Well, if that wasn’t the most inspiring thing he’d ever heard in his life. “Yeah, let’s do it!”

****

Marc: I need to talk to you… I’m just getting in the shower now so can you meet me in my room in fifteen minutes?

Emilio: I don’t like the sound of that…

Marc: It’s not the end of the world but… yeah. Will you come?

Emilio: I’ll be there

***

Hearing the knock at the door as he was dabbing the tattoo once or twice more to make sure it was dry, Marc cursed and dropped the towel, grabbing a pair of boxers from his case and pulling them on as he made his way to the door. There was no point in putting anything else on anyway…

Yanking it open, he ignored the flummoxed look on his manager’s face at the sight of the younger man half naked, pulling Emilio quickly inside. “What’s going on?”

 _Well…_ “First of all, it was meant to be one drink and then bed…”

Those words alone were enough to make Emilio die another bit inside. Five million different scenarios- each as bad as the last- began to fly through his head, all ending up on the front page of every paper in Spain. “ _What_ did you _do_?” _Please don’t answer that, I don’t want to know._

Swallowing hard, Marc bit his lip and began to reach for the waist band of his boxers.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING.”

 _Right, probably should have explained a little bit before stripping._ “I’m not going to tell you, I’m going to show you because the reaction is going to be the same so might as well get it over with. I’m sorry…” Without another word between the two, Emilio continued to observe the younger man warily as he pulled down his boxers just enough to expose The Tattoo™.

 _Oh for fuck sake._ “Right. Well, I thought we might have to have this conversation one day.”

 _WHAT._ Letting go of the material so fast that it snapped back and hit the tender skin, Marc let out a yelp. “Are you telling me that you planned for an eventuality where I got absolutely pissed in Thailand and got my team mate’s number tattooed right above my groin?”

“No? I meant you and Dani, it was obvious that something was going to happen.”

“What the fuck?! Can you please tell me why _everyone_ thinks I’m having sex with Dani Pedrosa?”

“Wait- are you telling me that you had someone tattoo Dani’s number on you for no particular reason?”

“It wasn’t meant to be Dani’s number! It was meant to be _MINE_.”

It took Emilio a moment to comprehend what that meant, the realisation hitting him like a ton of bricks. He was getting way too old for this shit. “So if you got the 26…”

 _Yeah_. “Dani got the 93.”

****

Of all the things he had been expecting, Emilio Alzamora arriving at his door with a very sheepish Marc Marquez in tow was not one of them. Before Dani could even get a word out of his mouth, the older man brushed past him, his team mate shooting him an apologetic look as he followed closely behind.

“Right. Two of you: sit.”

The two Repsol riders exchanged incredulous expressions, Dani taking it upon himself to refute that. “I-“

“No. _Sit_.”

There was little doubt as to whether Emilio meant that so, reluctantly, Marc and Dani decided to acquiesce, making their way over to sit on the edge of the bed like two school children who had been sent to the headmaster’s office, awaiting their punishment. They remained silent as Marc’s manager alternated between shaking his head in disapproval and staring at them with absolutely incredulity.

“I can’t believe we’re even in this situation but here we are. I told you both to go to bed after one more drink and did you listen? No. You went and fucking got ‘his and his’ tattoos!” The two riders dropped their heads ever so slightly at that, borderline refusing to look at either Emilio or each other. “We’re just lucky that they’re in places where _no one_ is going to see.”

 _Wait what?_ Dani’s head snapped up again and he grimaced, trying to decide whether it was worth disclosing that little bit of information. “Er… well, I don’t know where Marc’s is but I think someone is going to see mine sooner or later?”

 _That’s your own business._ “Well, you’ll have to explain to your _partner_ , of course.”

“My partner? I’m talking about more people than just a ‘partner’!”

Emilio’s eyes almost bugged out of his head. _It’s always the quiet ones_. “Er, okay-“

The feeling of dread returned to the pit of Marc’s stomach with a vengeance and he cringed. “Dani, where exactly is your tattoo?”

Heart hammering in his chest, Dani decided that the best way to answer that was to show rather than tell. He was willing to bet that that would at least be less embarrassing than actually saying ‘I have your number tattooed over my heart’. With all the enthusiasm of someone whose death was imminent, the Repsol rider peeled his t-shirt off, glad that the material was still covering his face when his team mate drew a sharp breath and Emilio cursed.

The 93, although perfectly drawn, stood out like a beacon on the taut and tanned skin of Dani’s chest, inadvertently much more of a statement than Marc’s was.

Not for the first time, Emilio found himself wondering why he hadn’t just become an accountant. “Well we just need to try our best to keep that hidden until you can get it removed.”

“When can we get them removed?”

“Not soon. I could be wrong but I’m pretty sure that it has to be completely healed before it can be removed.”

“He’s right,” Marc made an ‘eek’ face, “I googled it this morning when I was checking if I could shower or not. And healing can take up to 2 months…”

 _Great. Just great._ “Well, I suppose we have no one to blame but ourselves-“ _Wait, wait, wait…_ “Where’s _yours_?”

The younger rider’s eyes flicked towards his manager, who merely gave him a bemused shrug that said ‘you made your bed’. Grimacing, Marc lay back on the bed, trying his hardest to ignore the look of complete and utter confusion on Dani’s face as he popped open the button of his jeans and pulled them down ever so slightly, just enough to that he could pull back the band of his boxers and show him the 26 without showing anything more.

For a moment Dani could only blink because _that_ was certainly not what he had been expecting. But the most surprising bit was that the sight of Marc, laid back like that with his lip bitten, his tattoo of _Dani’s_ number _there_ on display, was mildly erotic. He swallowed, quickly finding that his throat had gone dry. Okay, so his might have been sweet if one didn’t know the context but Marc’s… well, Marc’s to the outsider was a statement of intent. It was only then that Dani realised, with disorientating clarity, that he wanted him- this fucking _sex god_ lying on his bed. His fingers longed to reach out and touch the ink that branded him as ‘ _mine’,_ to-

A cough interrupted whatever had been going on, Dani’s cheeks turning positively _scarlet_ as he looked up and met Emilio’s gaze once again. The older man raised an eyebrow as if to say ‘you can do what you want later on but for now…’.

“I know you may be thinking that ‘oh yeah, we kinda fucked up here but at least it can be removed’ but you were completely stupid and reckless and I’m not talking about someone jumping to the wrong conclusion. Do you have any idea where you got these done? Whether or not the equipment was even properly sterile? This is _serious_.”

“But-“

“No, no buts. You realise that you could have been exposed to any number of diseases? Your skin has been pierced by needles and you have no idea whether they were clean or not. So now I have to go and tell Livio that we’re not going anywhere until we get a doctor here to pump whatever they can into you to limit any chances of you contracting anything.”

_Fuck._

****

Livio, of course, blew his top.

His first rant consisted of berating them for getting so drunk in the first place, the second for deciding in their drunken wisdom to get _tattoos_ and the third for being stupid enough to get the wrong ones.

“I honestly don’t even believe that this could be a problem that I, the boss of MotoGP’s most successful team, have to deal with right now. And I would say something if you were both Marc’s age but, Dani, come on. You’re old enough to know now that getting tattoos in a strange city while drunk is not a good idea.”

“Hey! I’m old enough to know that too. But Dani’s just…”

Exchanging a long-suffering look, Emilio and Livio shook their heads. “Yes, Marc, we _all_ know. You’d jump off a bridge if Dani told you to.”

“What?!” Both riders simultaneously demanded, neither knowing exactly what that meant.

“I didn’t force him to do it!”

“Oh _come on_. I’m not… I don’t…”

 _What? You don’t think we see the way that you smile every time you look at him? Or the way whenever you take photos together you_ always _put your arm around his back?_ “Just get out of my sight. Go back to your rooms and just stay away from alcohol and tattoo guns until I can get someone here to vaccinate you both. And know that I am _extremely_ pissed off about this. The rest are all heading to the airport to go home and it’s likely that we’re going to have to stay another night at this stage. Tell me, would I rather be here with you two idiots or at home with my family?”

“Can’t we just get the injections when we get back to Spain?”

Emilio decided to take that one, not wanting to give the team boss another chance to blow up again. “Absolutely not. You need to get them _yesterday_ , not tomorrow. If you were just two normal people then, yes, you could just not get them and you would probably be fine. But you’re not, you’re Marc Marquez and Dani Pedrosa and it’s in your best interests as well as Honda’s to make sure one or both of you don’t end up with hepatitis. Wouldn’t _that_ be interesting to explain to WADA?”

****

“So…”

“So…”

 _Top of the list of things I never thought I would do: go to Thailand, get drunk with my team mate and get his fucking number tattooed on my body._ They walked like two scolded puppies through the lobby and towards the lift, trying to draw as little attention to themselves as possible. “What do we do now?”

Dani gave a little shrug. “Do what we’re told and go back to our rooms I suppose. Before Livio murders the both of us.” _At least that’s where I’m going anyway because I’m in dire need of a wank…_

“Er, would you mind if I come with you? I really don’t fancy sitting alone in my room, thinking about how much of an idiot I am. And for just how long my mama is going to go to jail for murdering me…”

His mind was screaming for him to say no, because he was pretty sure he was going to die out of sheer sexual frustration. Having Marc in his room was not a good idea by any stretch of the imagination. And yet… “Sure. I suppose misery loves company.” Marc flashed him a smile that was worthy of falling under the ‘life ruining’ category and held the door open for his team mate as they stepped into the lift. Returning the smile, Dani began to wonder when exactly he had started becoming… _curious_ about his team mate. Marc had always been beautiful, of course, but his desire to jump the younger man was most definitely a new development.

Now that he had Dani’s number fucking _permanently marked_ on his body, in a place where few would ever see (how he longed to be one of them), it only added fuel to the fire that had been beginning to smoulder. He was in trouble, that was for sure.

“So…” lingering by the door of his room while Marc walked ahead, Dani swallowed hard, “make yourself at home.” The younger man wasted no time in doing just that, flopping down on the bed before the words had even completely left his team mate’s mouth. A little unsure of what to do next, Dani decided it would be weird if he just lingered and made himself comfortable a little bit away from Marc, thankful that the bed was quite large.

“I can’t believe we got matching tattoos.”

Propping himself up on his elbow, Dani grimaced at the other man. “We didn’t get matching tattoos. We got different tattoos, the only problem being that they just so happened to be the wrong ones.” Marc nodded at that, biting his lip as he seemed to contemplate something and Dani felt like groaning because he knew that look and it certainly didn’t mean anything good. “What?”

“There’s something kinda funny that I want to tell you but I don’t know if I should…”

He sat up dead straight, eyes wide with panic. “Oh god. I really don’t like the sound of that. We didn’t get drunkenly married or anything, did we?” _And there’s that damn lip bite again._

“No, we didn’t get married. I’m like ninety percent confident.”

“I’d rather you be one hundred percent confident to be honest.”

Pausing for a moment, Marc shook his head to himself. “You see what I want to tell you is kinda related to that ten percent doubt… But you really don’t need to worry- in fact, you’ll probably just laugh-“

“Marc?”

“Hmm?”

“Just spit it out already.”

 _Okay. Here goes…_ Fingers fidgeting with the top sheet, the younger man chuckled before looking up at his team mate once again. “So, when I called Alex and explained that we’d been drinking together, he kinda assumed that I was freaking out because we slept together.”

His jaw may have dropped at that but those words went straight to Dani’s groin. Not sure whether to laugh or cry, he settled for a simple ‘oh’, keeping his voice as neutral as possible.

 _Fuck, what have I done??_ Now sitting up, Marc just wanted the ground to swallow him up as he realised that telling Dani that while they were lying side by side on a bed was probably the worst possible time to do it. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m-“

“ _Marc_ ,” that managed to get the world champion’s attention, “I’m not uncomfortable. I’m- well, no I am uncomfortable and it’s your fault but it’s definitely _not_ because I’m disgusted.”

 _What?_ “I don’t understand…”

 _Am I really going to do this? Well, I have your number tattooed over my fucking heart so I suppose worse things have happened…_ “I’m uncomfortable because I have never felt so turned on in my entire life. Ever. And you’re just sitting there, on _my_ bed, looking at me with those eyes and telling me that your brother thought that we fucked and it’s just… too much.”

 _Oh my god_. For a moment, Marc was pretty sure that he resembled a goldfish as his mouth opened and closed, completely lost for words for once in his life. Suddenly, his pants felt incredibly tight as the words ‘Dani Pedrosa wants to fuck you’ went around and around his head. _OH MY GOD._ “You want me?”

Dani almost growled. “Yes, I fucking want you. And thank god Emilio was there when you showed me your tattoo earlier on because I don’t think I would have been able to keep my hands to myself otherwise.” _There. Take that you perfect bastard._

Somewhere along the way Marc’s look of shock turned into an evil grin, his breathing becoming that little bit more laboured as he inched closer to the older man. “Seeing your number tattooed on me did it for you, didn’t it? Or is it seeing it _there_ that really got you going?”

This was it, this was how Dani Pedrosa, Repsol Honda rider, was going to end. “Marc…” he pleaded, unsure as to what for, Marc now mere inches away, so close that he could feel his team mate’s hot breath on his face.

“How long have you wanted me?”

“A while,” he blurted out without thinking, cursing how wanton he sounded.

Marc, deciding it was cruel to keep teasing him like that, finally closed the distance between their lips, feeling like he’d been hit with a bolt of lightning when they finally met. Either the kiss itself or Dani stole his breath and Marc never felt so like he’d drifted off to heaven. It started slow, like they were just exploring, but wasn’t long before the intensity increased, leaving Dani scrambling for fistfuls of Marc’s hair, finger tips rubbing against his scalp as he struggled to find purchase with how short it was at the back. Instead, he settled for wrapping his arms around the younger man’s neck, pulling him as close to his body as possible.

Marc would have easily been content to stay like that for the rest of his life, but the rational part of his brain told him that Livio could come calling any minute and he needed _more_ , though he wasn’t entirely certain what that was. Managing to pull away, he called his team mates name, chuckling as Dani merely answered with a ‘hmm?’ and immediately tried to reattach their mouths, the disappointed look on his face when he failed absolutely hilarious.

“Please let me blow you.”

“No.”

“Oh. Well, okay.”

Corner of his mouth tugging upwards, Dani slowly reached for the sip of the younger man’s jeans. “I want to taste you. I want to see my number right there when I suck you off.”

 _Jesus christ._ “If I had known that seeing your number on my body would make you so hot for me I would have gotten out the Sharpie a long time ago…”

Popping the button, Dani busied himself with the zip, unceremoniously yanking it down. “You have no idea just how hot for you I am right now.”

“Mmm I think I can feel.” He did as he was told as Dani ordered him to lift his hips, carefully pulling down both his pants and boxers so as not to irritate the tattoo. The sight of it there, partially obscured by Marc’s hard on, almost made Dani salivate. The light scattering of hair that he’d seen there on a couple of occasions had obviously been removed by whoever had done the tattoo, smooth skin now remaining.

All but licking his lips at the sight of Marc’s arousal, Dani placed the gentlest of kisses against the slightly red, inflamed skin of the new addition to his body, ghosting further and further south until the other man’s fists balled in the sheets. In any other situation, he might have teased Marc a bit more, refusing to give him anything until he was begging, but his frustration was positively painful and so he closed his lips around Marc’s tip, watching with satisfaction as he hissed and writhed.

“Fuck, _Dani_ …”

Humming in response to that, Dani swallowed him down as best as he could, his lack of experience in being on the giving end meaning that he wasn’t too sure where his breaking point was. But he was more than willing to find out. He’d been on the receiving end enough times to make a good go at it, at least, and Marc didn’t seem to have the mind to do much complaining…

What shocked Dani the most, however, was not the physical sensations, but the sense of power that came from having Marc Marquez at his mercy, well and truly flapping his usually unflappable team mate. Marc’s pleasure was in his hands and, should he decide to do so, he could just leave the younger man hanging. (He definitely didn’t want to.) Tang of pre-come filling his mouth, Dani doubled his efforts, smirking around Marc when he had to put his hand on his hips to hold him in place.

“-feels so good, so _good_ -“

He had to admit, it was going _swimmingly_ until there was a very authoritative knock on his door, leaving Dani completely frozen. If it weren’t completely terrifying, the situation might have actually been comical; he could only imagine Livio’s face if he walked in to find one of his rider’s with his mouth halfway down his other rider’s cock…

It turned out Marc had the quicker reflexes of the two, pushing the older man off of him so firmly that Dani almost toppled off the end of the bed, barely catching himself on the covers in time. “ _What the fuck-_ “

“I’ll be in the bathroom,” Marc hissed, grabbing fistfuls of his jeans and underwear so that he could waddle somewhat successfully towards his destination, cock surprisingly still ready and willing.

“ _Do not leave me!_ ”

“ _I have to sort_ this _! They’re going to want to look at my tattoo and I’d rather not seem excited by the prospect…”_

Another knock. “ _Dani?”_

Gritting his teeth, his own arousal long forgotten, Dani made sure that there were no obvious signs of what they had been doing and that the bathroom was completely closed off before stalking towards the door. Half sheepish and half annoyed, he pulled it open, unsurprised to see Livio, Emilio and a man he assumed to be the doctor standing there. “Sorry, I was just dozing off. Marc’s in the bathroom.”

Exchanging a look with his fellow long-suffering colleague, Livio eyed him with suspicion, likely wondering what the hell Marc was doing in his bathroom if he had been asleep but unable to comment on it in the present company. For that, Dani was entirely grateful. “Can we come in then?”

 _Oh, yeah._ Stepping out of the way, Dani bit his lip as the three men entered his room. He’d heard on a number of occasions that sex had a distinctive smell and never believed it, right then he was praying to god that it didn’t. Maybe he should have sprayed some aftershave just in case…

“Dr Jiang here was kind enough to come here at incredibly short notice to sort you two out. You’ll do whatever he says, understood?”

Well, he wasn’t going to argue with that anyway. “Understood.”

“First, I will look at the tattoo for any sign of infection. Then I will administer a dose of the HBV vaccine to both of you. It is likely that you have already received the vaccine as a child, but this a second dose will not be of any harm and may prevent any infection from taking hold. I suggest that you consult with a specialist when you return home to make sure that there are no more problems.”

“But,” Dani frowned, “the odds that the needles were unclean are slim, right?”

“Well, if you used the parlour that we assume you did, it’s likely that they were clean. But since you were inebriated and therefore in no state to assess the cleanliness of the instruments, it’s advisable that we proceed with this course of treatment. Just to be on the safe side.”

Muttering his consent, Dani hovered awkwardly, listening like an owl for any and all sounds being made by Marc in the bathroom, only hearing the flushing of the toilet and little else over the noise.

“Dani?” Livio arched an eyebrow, eyeing his rider sceptically, “Are you all right?”

“Me? Oh, yeah! Just… afraid of needles.”

“Really? Since when?”

 _For fuck sake, Dani_. Trying his best not to look guilty, the Repsol rider awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, obviously failing in his goal completely. “Er, since I got a tattoo that might have given me hepatitis.”

It was an acceptable enough answer, and no one seemed to linger too long on it, especially since Marc chose that moment to reappear, looking a lot more put together and clothed than the last time Dani had seen him. The look of horror had been replaced by that trademark Marc Marquez smile and swagger as he greeted the three men enthusiastically, shaking the doctor’s hand and effectively saving Dani from drowning. He’d never been a good liar.

“So I suppose we should just get this out of the way…” Without being prompted to do so, Marc pulled his shirt over his head, catching the other rider completely by surprise. Though he’d seen his team mate shirtless on a number of occasions, he’d never had Marc’s cock in his mouth mere minutes preceding those times, and he felt his cheeks flush, his bodily reacting involuntarily to the sight. Fuck, he was never going to make it out of this with dignity or sanity intact.

“Actually, I would usually administer it in-“ _Please don’t say ass, please don’t say ass…_ “the thigh.”

_THANK GOD. Wait, no…_

“Can’t we just get it in the arm instead? Marc’s already undressed…”

“Dani, you’ll get it where the doctor says you will.”

Smirking, the younger rider chucked his shirt right at his team mate, satisfied when he heard a soft croak. “It’s okay, I don’t mind taking it off.”

“Yeah,” Dani glared, “if what I’ve heard is true.”

“Ouch, that wasn’t very nice.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Emilio shook his head, patience wearing by the second. “Please do not make this situation any worse than it already is. I never thought I would ever say these words but: Dani, take off your fucking pants.”

As weird as Emilio Alzamora ordering him to strip was, Dani actually found himself grateful to Marc’s manager. He didn’t think he’d ever been less excited in his life.

*

“Well, that was traumatic…”

Flopping back on the bed as Marc closed the door behind their visitors, Dani groaned, covering his eyes with his hands. “I wish there was something I could do to have that memory removed from my brain, permanently.”  

“Well,” chewing on his lip, the younger man made his way over to the bed, taking advantage of Dani’s current position by climbing on top of him, thighs wrapping around his waist. Despite his surprise, Dani’s hands instinctively came to rest on Marc’s ass, pulling him closer as he leaned down and pressed his lips against Dani’s once again. It was surreal, and for a moment Dani couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t dream. That was until Marc moved his hips, the pressure making his eyes roll back in his head as they kissed, barely able to hear the soft sound of their mouths moving together over the hammering of his pulse in his ears.

“ _Marc…_ ”

Pausing, Marc pressed his cheek against the older man’s. “I want Alex to be right, besides the freaking out bit.”

“W-what?”

“I’m _saying_ I want to feel you, inside me.”

 _FUCK_. Squeezing his eyes shut, Dani had to concentrate very hard to keep from coming right there and then. “I want to, I _really_ want to, but…”

“But?”

“I haven’t got anything with me, and after today I don’t think it’s a good idea-“ All too aware of the sudden loss of pressure, Dani’s eyes opened to see that Marc was already halfway across the room, triumphantly grabbing something from the desk. “What are you doing?”

“Remember the… _supplies_ we all had a laugh about the day we arrived?”

Sitting upright, Dani’s eyes widened as he found himself incredibly thankful for the foresight of the hotel that they had all mocked no more than a couple of days ago. He certainly wasn’t laughing now. _Thank you, thank you, thank you._

“So… I say we put them to use while we still can. I think Livio is annoyed enough with us that he won’t bother us until later this evening at the very earliest…”

“Get over here,” he growled, “ _Now_.”

Marc did just that, but not before stripping away a couple of very inconvenient layers of clothing, longing to feel the heat of Dani’s skin against his. The patch of ink on the older man’s perfect chest had Marc completely transfixed, and he desperately wanted to make him promise to leave it there forever, and he would do the same. Tracing the still-tended skin with the pad of his thumb, Marc placed a delicate kiss against it. Just as Dani had done. “You know, we’re going to have to answer some questions about those when we go home…”

“Probably, but we’ll deal with that later.”

Grinning at this new, bold Dani Pedrosa, Marc let it go, resuming where he left off.

_Yes, we will._


End file.
